


The Sun in your Smile

by pure1magination



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Crushes, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Polyamorous Character, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:22:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6916462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pure1magination/pseuds/pure1magination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is having a bad day and Scott just wants him to be happy</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun in your Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Slight AU. The thing with Sharon never happened. Not saying it couldn't ever happen, just wasn't happy with how it happened in MCU.
> 
> Also implied: the Avengers are all living together again and everything is okay

****Scott Lang is still in a state of euphoria over joining The Avengers. He’s pretty sure he has the coolest job _ever._ He gets to beat up bad guys, hang out with _superheroes,_ travel all over the world, and he’s actually on the right side of the law! (Most of the time.) Joining The Avengers was mind-blowing enough, but moving into the official Avengers HQ still feels like a dream.

Captain-Freaking-America is sitting in the kitchen like it’s no big deal. He’s got one leg crossed over the other, a cup of coffee in his hand, and he’s reading an actual newspaper.

“Wow.”

Captain America turns his head (Steve Rogers, he asked to be called Steve Rogers, _god_ this is so cool!) and raises a questioning eyebrow over those solemn stormy-blue eyes.

“Isn’t the sun _bright_ today?” Scott gushes. He grabs the coffee pot. “The sky is so _blue_ and the clouds are so _fluffy!_ Man, I just wanna go out there and-- fly around, or something. Coffee?”

Steve Rogers shakes his head ‘no’ and holds up his mug.

“Oh. Right. Right, I totally knew that.” Scott fumbles to put the pot back on its warmer. He takes a sip while it’s still too hot and hisses in pain, but pretends everything’s fine. His lips are burning. He wince-smiles. “Got any big plans today?” His voice comes out half a register too high. (Dammit! Play it cool, play it cool!)

Steve blows out a sigh and readjusts his position in his seat, leaning back and staring tragically off into the distance. “They’re going over some test results. They think they may have found a way to reverse part of Bucky’s programming.”

Secondhand adrenaline races through Scott. “Well that’s good!” He grins too big. Steve’s expression makes him question whether his face should be stretched this far. “-Right?” His voice cracks.

Steve’s gaze lowers, those miles-long lashes dipping down. “It’s only part of the solution. It could be years before he’s… Before he wakes up.” Steve takes a long sip of coffee like he doesn’t want to think about it.

“Jeez. That’s… rough, man.” Scott rubs the back of his neck. He tries to think of something reassuring to say about Bucky, but he’s not sure what to say. He doesn’t know the science or the psychology behind what’s happening, and he doesn’t want to throw out a bunch of cheesy, recycled Hallmark cliches. Those are barely comforting anyway.

“You know,” Scott begins before he has a chance to think the sentence through, “My daughter, Cassie-- she’s the most precious thing in the world to me. She’s the whole reason I quit my life of crime. -Granted, I haven’t been very good at following up on that, but I’m trying. I just, _really_ want to be on the right side of things, for _her._ ”

Steve Rogers is watching him.

Scott licks his lips. “I barely ever see her. Sometimes it’s months… Years. But she’s still the most important thing in the world to me, and no matter how long it’s been since the last time I’ve seen her, she’s…” He smiles ruefully to himself. Cassie’s beautiful smile fills his mind’s eye. “always happy to see me,” he finishes.

Steve’s smile is strained. He nods once. That seems to be the entirety of his response.

“I mean, I know, obviously, Bucky isn’t your daughter,” Scott continues, trying to come off casual. “But it seems to me that you’ve got kinda the same thing going on. You love him, right?”

Steve gives him a sharp look. There are so many emotions on his face-- desperation, pain, fear, devotion, and something guarded, like he’s about to defend something he feels strongly about and he’ll fight to the death if he has to.

Scott tears his eyes away and looks into his coffee cup instead. “Kinda sucks that he got put back under again just as he was coming back to you. But he’ll be back. Don’t quote me on this, because I don’t want Barnes to come after me when he’s conscious again, but-- I kinda think he loves you, too. That’s why he went under, right? To protect you.”

Steve’s eyes are hard and unreadable. “He went under to protect everybody. Because he feels guilty about what he’s done. He doesn’t want to hurt any more people.”

Scott shifts his weight. “And I totally get that, wanting to make up for everything you did wrong, but I don’t think _he’s_ enough motivation for him to do that. I know if it was just me, I wouldn’t have cared, I would’ve come right out of jail and gone back to what I was doing before. But I have a daughter. And I saw you two fighting together. He looks at you like you’re the reason he’s still alive. He sticks by you, no matter what, and I think he looks up to you. I know _I_ do,” he adds self-consciously, cheeks hot. He takes a sip of coffee as casually as he can, despite Steve’s eyes on him.

“Thanks, Scott.”

Scott’s heart jumps. “For what?”

“For believing in Bucky,” Steve replies in a voice so serious it stops Scott mid-motion.

“Oh,” Scott replies, voice coming out quieter than he meant to. “If _you_ believe in someone, that’s good enough for me.”

Their eyes are locked. Steve has set down his coffee mug and set aside the now-folded newspaper.

“That means a lot,” Steve says, standing up.

“No problem.” Scott’s heart is racing.

Steve Rogers crosses the room in three huge strides, heading straight towards him. He comes to a stop next to Scott and turns his attention towards the view outside the window. “It _is_ a beautiful day,” Steve observes. The sunlight is golden on his front half, pleasantly illuminating his hair, his shirt, his smile. His hands are resting on his hips. His profile is gloriously majestic, his nose a perfect slope, his jawline the kind of thing artists have dreams about.

“You wanna go outside?” Scott hears himself say.

Steve turns his smile on Scott. “You know?” His eyebrow is cocked. “I think I do.”

*

Scott has butterflies. He and Captain America are playing a game of frisbee, and it’s absolutely no shocker that Scott is getting his ass kicked, badly, but he is having the time of his life anyway. Steve Rogers is _smiling._ At _him._ Every time he curves the frisbee towards himself, and those upper arm muscles bulge, every time he uncoils his arm and flings the frisbee out at him with expert precision, there’s this spark of challenge and determination in the set of that square jaw, genuine enjoyment sparkling in those commanding blue eyes, and Scott doesn’t even care that he misses almost every time. He’s just overjoyed that Steve Rogers is _smiling._

Scott realizes two seconds later that he’s holding the frisbee. “I _caught_ it!” Scott exclaims with surprise. He grins. “I _caught_ it!” he crows, launching the frisbee back at a now-grinning Steve Rogers.

Steve catches it in a fabulous dive, staining the side of his gray t-shirt. He rolls to his feet and aims the frisbee back at Scott. He gets a little too into it, throws it too hard, and Scott shouts out “Whoa!” as he ducks out of the way. The frisbee embeds itself into the tree behind him, roughly at head-level.

Steve jogs over, eyebrows creased. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” Scott’s hands are still protectively covering the top of his head. He casts a fearful glance at the frisbee which almost just killed him. “Nice throw!”

“Sorry.” Steve dislodges the frisbee from the tree with a decisive yank. “Maybe frisbee wasn’t the best choice.”

“No, no!” Scott lowers his hands, still watching the frisbee. “I had fun.”

Steve’s mouth pulls to one side. “Maybe we should try something else.”

“Sure! What’re you thinking?” Scott’s gaze has traveled up to Steve’s magnificent pecs.

“How ‘bout volleyball?”

Scott winces. “Maybe something a little less… catch-y?”

Steve self-consciously scratches the back of his neck. “That bad, huh?”

“I love you, and I love playing catch with you, and you’re amazing, but-- yeah.”

Steve’s eyes fix on him for a bit too long. He breaks eye contact the exact second Scott almost opens his mouth to comment on it. “Badminton?”

“Does anyone even really know how to _play_ that?”

Steve shrugs. “We wouldn’t be following the proper rules anyway, with two people.”

“Captain America? Not playing by the rules?” Scott teases.

“Do I ever?” Steve’s voice is warm.

Scott could swoon. But because he is a grown man and _not_ a teenage fangirl, he only sways on his feet a little bit. “Sure. Let’s play badminton.”

*

Steve Rogers proves himself to be just as amazing at badminton as he is at just about everything else. Scott’s sarcasm and Steve’s sass make for a great running commentary. Scott doesn’t even care that he’s losing. They’re just deciding on a third sport when Steve frowns, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and his whole demeanor shifts. His back straightens. His shoulders seem to draw impossibly broader; his jaw seems to get more square. Scott knows without asking that this is about Bucky.

He lets Steve go, and spends a restless day bumming around HQ. Nothing on TV seems interesting for more than three minutes. He can’t seem to get comfortable. He gets up to look into the cupboard every five or ten minutes, only to look at every shelf and decide he isn’t hungry, or to take a bag of potato chips or pretzels or a box of cookies, eat half a mouthful, and put it back. Everyone else drifts in and out, says hello to him in passing, but seems to have Important Things To Do today.

It’s nearly seven o’clock. Scott has ordered a pizza, which has yet to arrive. He is currently slouched down so far in a chair that his back is horizontal. He is watching an old rerun of Saturday Night Live. It’s not one of the better ones. He doesn’t recognize the celebrity guest.

There’s footsteps, and the air shifts; a heavy weight settles silently on the other side of the couch.

Scott rolls his head to the side to look over. His eyes widen; he sits up.

Steve Rogers is staring at the television without really seeing it. His whole body is drawn up tense. “There may be irreversible damage to the hippocampus.”

Scott wants to make a joke about that, because it’s a funny word, but the density of the air and the tragic thousand-yard stare warn him not to. “That sucks.”

“I think they’re wrong.” Steve’s jaw is clenched. His fists are clenched in his lap. “He’s been recovering his memories. He _does_ remember.”

“Yeah.” Scott swallows past his suddenly dry throat. “Of course he does.”

Steve glances at him. “You saw him.”

Scott nods. “Yeah. I did.”

“He’s not The Winter Soldier anymore.”

“The Winter Soldier couldn’t love,” Scott points out. It’s a bit of an assumption, considering he never _met_ The Winter Soldier, but a brainwashed assassin who had no sense of self doesn’t really seem like someone with enough autonomy to love _anyone._

It seems to have been the right thing to say. Steve’s eyes are fixed on him again. His mouth quirks up, but his eyes are still tragic. “You think love brought him back?”

Scott licks his lips. “Didn’t it?”

Steve shakes his head ruefully. “You don’t think it’s because I treated him like a _person_ , instead of a weapon? Because I treated him like a _friend?”_

Scott shrugs a shoulder. “You love your friends, don’t you?”

Something in Steve’s eyes softens. Then, it turns sad. His whole face is heartbreaking. “I don’t think he loves me the same way.” His sad smile grows wider. “But at least it was enough to bring him back.”

And, wow, did Steve just say what Scott _thinks_ he just said? The room feels like it’s spinning. “You’d have to talk to _him_ about that,” Scott jokes, except he’s serious.

Steve laughs, but there’s nothing happy about it. “Back when I’m from…” He shakes his head. “Bucky only thinks of me as a friend.”

Scott pulls a face. “Only one way to find out.”

“And in the meantime?” Steve raises an eyebrow.

Scott gives him a blank look.

Steve’s eyebrow raises higher, his sarcasm notching up. “Do I just wait around for my best friend to come out of cryo so I can get his rejection in-person, or do I date around and see if I can get over it?”

“I may be a little drunk right now, so don’t take this personally-” Scott swivels so he’s facing Steve more fully “-but I think he _definitely_ loves you, and I _also_ think he’d think you were stupid for waiting for him, _especially_ if you like someone else.” Scott contemplates his drink on the side-table. “But what do I know?” He downs it.

“Tony says it’s called ‘polyamory.’”

Scott nearly spits out his drink. “What?”

The arch of that perfect golden eyebrow is going to haunt his dreams, Scott knows it. “That’s the reason he and Pepper split, ultimately, because Tony is polyamorous and she is not.”

“I know, but--” Scott shakes his dizzy head. _“What?”_

“Polyamory,” Steve repeats in his steady voice. “It’s when one person is capable of having romantic feelings for more than one person. Kinda wish I’d known that, back in the day. Would have felt much less guilty about Bucky and Peggy.”

“Holy shit,” Scott says, forgetting to filter his thoughts so that some of them remain internal. “Captain America is bisexual.”

Steve smirks. “That surprise you?”

“I…” Scott’s brain fuzzes out.

The doorbell rings.

Scott pieces together the connection between the sound of a doorbell and the reason for it ringing roughly two seconds after Steve Rogers pushes up off of the couch and strolls out of the room to answer the door and pay for his pizza.

Scott’s heart is pounding. His palms are sweating. He smooths down his hair, wipes his hands on his pants, shakes his head to try to clear it, and tries to appear as casual as possible.

Steve Rogers returns, sets the pizza box on the table in front of them, and settles back onto the couch in one fluid motion. He leans forward and opens it. “Mind if I grab a slice?”

Scott mutely shakes his head ‘no.’

Steve Rogers grabs a slice of the pizza _that he paid for_ and starts eating.

“Did--” Scott digs around for his wallet. “Did you want me to pay you for that?” He’s a little bewildered. He’s having trouble finding it. His cheeks heat.

“My treat.”

Scott stares at him for a long moment before he blindly gropes for a slice of pizza, tears his eyes away just before Steve catches him staring, and tries to focus on the television that it’s near-impossible to pay attention to right now. He nearly burns his mouth for the second time today, but luckily his instincts are still intact enough for him to stop mid-bite when the roof of his mouth registers that the pizza is still too hot.

He must’ve made a noise because Steve looks over and asks “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, just.” Scott holds up his slice. “Pizza.”

Steve nods.

Scott tries to pay attention to whatever is happening on the television. It seems to be a parody of some game show he doesn’t remember watching. He can hear the audio, but none of it sinks in. He’s hyper-aware of the dip in the cushions to his left, the leg a short distance away from his.

He catches the sheepish, self-conscious glance at the pizza box after Steve finishes his first slice.

“You can have as much as you want.”

Steve gratefully scoots closer to him and reaches in for another slice. They are inches apart now. He can feel the heat radiating off of that magnificent arm. Yet Steve Rogers sits there, casual as can be, watching the television, and even laughing every so often. Scott keeps glancing over at him.

Scott can’t handle more than two slices. He doesn’t even care that Steve eats the other six. His greasy hands hang limp between his knees, unsure what to do with themselves, dusted with crumbs. He glances over at Steve again and again.

It would be more accurate to say that he glances at the _television_ every so often, and is making a conscious effort not to stare at Steve Rogers, because that is weird and probably creepy, and he doesn’t want to fuck up what seems to be a bonding session with Captain America. Who, by the way, is _way_ more good-looking in-person than Scott had thought was possible.

“So you’re bisexual?” Scott blurts.

“Yes,” Steve answers cautiously, a bit on the defensive.

“Fox News is gonna hate that.”

“Y’know,” Steve says with his sarcastic voice on, “I’ve been thinking of going public _just_ for that.”

Scott looks at him. “You’re secretly kind of punk, aren’t you.”

Steve smirks. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone called me that.”

Scott feels his own smile spreading. “You should do it.”

“Come out to the press?”

“It would be _hilarious._ ”

Steve readjusts his position, eyes on the television again. “Guess I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“The right moment.”

Scott nods. Makes sense.

Silence stretches out, except for the canned laughter and the exaggerated voice-acting.

And then there’s a warm hand on Scott’s shoulder.

Scott jolts and sits up, eyes wide and fixed uncomprehendingly on Captain America.

Steve glances down at him. The motion of those eyelashes is practically hypnotizing. “Too much?”

“You-- Your--” _Your arm is around my shoulders!_

Steve starts to withdraw his arm. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No! Wait!” Scott grabs Steve’s arm.

Steve pauses.

Scott pulls Steve’s arm back around his shoulders, sets Steve’s hand back on his upper arm, and scoots closer until their sides are touching. He gives Steve’s hand a pat.

Steve smiles. His hand warmly clasps Scott’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. He settles comfortably against Scott, pulling him a little closer, and watches the television like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Scott thinks he could just about die from happiness.

 


End file.
